Page 53

Unlock the back door for the police, please, love.

The pounding sound startled me and I jumped, almost dropping my phone, although I’d known it was coming.

Again, fury pulsed inside of me.

The doorknob rattled, and I remembered I’d locked it before I angled the couch against the door. But before I worried about the handle somehow being worked open, something hard crashed into the door.

I squeaked and then covered my mouth with both hands as the windows rattled. I glanced over toward the monitors and noted the face of my tormenter, gnarled in rage. He’d rammed his shoulder against the door for a second time, before he flinched and his body sagged.

Then, the voice I’d dreaded for years, who managed a hold on me even without his presence for months, even years after, floated through the door. It didn’t match everything ugly about the image on screen.

“Neko, honey, what are you doing in there? I can’t open the door. I want to get in and see you. It’s been so long since the last time we were together and I’ve missed you.”

I glared at the door with what probably was the most incredulous look on my face, thinking about the curse words, insults, and small dick jokes I had in my arsenal, but the voice of the operator cut in.

“Don’t reply. It’ll only enrage him.”

I angled my body away from the door and whispered into the phone, “I haven’t seen or spoken to this man in three years, even after a restraining order and jail time, and you think me saying something about his inbreeding is going to make him even more delusional than he is right now?”

“What was that, honey? Are you okay in there?”

Rather than spout every hurtful word that came to mind, I kept my mouth shut.

“The police are close. You’re doing great, Mr. Ellison.”

Then the fucking psychopath said the exact wrong thing.

“Neko-Ren, honey, if you don’t open this door in the next minute, I’m going to run downstairs, find those evil fucking monsters you call your sisters, and march them to the front yard. I’ll force them to kneel on the ground before I shoot each one in the back of the head. Then, I’m going to find that bitch of a friend who busted my knee and using the sharpest knife I find in our kitchen, I will flay the skin off her, relishing in her screams, before I stab that bitch in the heart.”

Every rational thought, even through my fear, flew out of my mind the moment he threatened… I choked when my unhelpful brain imagined his exact words.

A noise outside focused my anger and instead of dwelling on the possibility of him killing those I loved, I formed a plan.

I clicked on the security camera outside in the hallway, enlarging the picture. I searched for any other weapons or bulges where he might hide a knife, but I spotted nothing. Determination washed over me and using my one talent, I started speaking.

“If you throw the gun out into the front yard, I’ll come out. And I mean, you go downstairs, open the front door, and chuck the gun in the far corner of the yard in the bushes before coming back inside and up the stairs. Then, and only then, will I open the door.”

With Graham close by and the police closing in on the house, I needed to do something to help.

For a long moment, silence met my request. Not wanting to wait for his agreement, I grabbed the stainless steel office scissors and slipped them into my back pocket. I opened the heavy duty stapler, testing my ability to strike out with it without hurting myself, when I remembered the hammer in my desk drawer.

On second thought, the stapler might come in handy.

After pocketing the sturdy, yet cold object, the letter opener caught the sunlight, and I slipped it next to the scissors, in case I lost the hammer. I had two stabbing weapons on top of the crushing ones, all of which I would aim at his face and head.

What the fuck are you thinking?

Without a gun, or any other weapons on him, I know, I checked, he’s vulnerable. With all my makeshift weapons, it’ll be enough damage to hold him off.

“I accept your offer. I’ll be back.”

With a furrowed brow and indignation running through me, I stared at his image strolling down the stairs, unlocking and opening the door, before tossing the gun underhanded into the bush separating our yard from Hensley’s. He strode back through, not bothering to shut it behind him, and marched up the stairs.

Before he reached the room, I put the cell to my ear and said, “The front door is wide open, he’s unarmed, you’ll find his gun in the bushes.”

“Under no circumstances should you open that door.”

“I’m buying time. I’ll make it sound as though I’m moving the furniture out of the way.”